The Ice Cream Parlor
by MagnifiedSun
Summary: A young Alfred breaks the window of an ice cream shop while playing baseball. One-shot!


**The Ice Cream Parlor**

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><p>The sun was unmerciful that day as that bright orb sat at its high noon peak; radiating waves of intense heat, and the clouds were too meek to come out of hiding or too proud or just plain sadistic and relished in the suffering of the people below. Who knows how the clouds are? Or what they enjoy. Not Alfred. All he knew was that it was unbearably hot, and the pressure of the baseball game wasn't helping him cool off. It was the bottom of the ninth inning, bases loaded, two outs and three runs behind the other team. How cliché! But Alfred loved it. He was the star of his own inner movie and the hero of the day (well technically of everyday but especially today). Because today it wasn't just a game. This time there was an actual reward riding on the outcome… ice cream from the best parlor in town, paid for by the losing team. And the thought of the glory he was sure to also receive upon winning the game brought out childish giggles from him; the boy tried to stifle back the outburst of laughter after receiving an irritated glare from the runner on second, Arthur. But the Brit's efforts at scolding failed when his face warped into a confusing mixture of alarm and irk from the unexpected groping of Francis's eager hands. The silly facial result only prompted Alfred to lose control of himself as the young American began laughing even harder and made no attempt to conceal his audible amusement. After finally regaining his self-control; motivation provided by the desire to have Roderich, who was behind Alfred unhappily playing the position of catcher against his will, stop nagging him about continuing the game.<p>

With his chuckling silenced; Alfred rested the bat on a shoulder in order to wipe the crystalline beads of sweat that trembled with the boy's excitement off of his face. The hand that brushed the perspiration away did so lazily in one sloppy swipe. Instead of individual droplets dotting Alfred's flushed skin; a shinning wet sheet was spread across his forehead, and the light dusting of dirt was now smudged into patches on his cheeks. Then he adjusted his crooked glasses; leaving a clear fingerprint that slightly obscured his vision, but Alfred ignored this inconvenience and proceeded to dry off his clammy hand with the loose bottom of his now off-white shirt. The considerably damp short sleeved article was in a miserable state, with a tear running up the side and a pale muddled yellowish brown as its color any mother would be horrified at the site. If the boy's denim shorts weren't as durable as they were, then they would certainly be worse off than their faded and worn shade with the beginnings of a frayed bottom. Luckily there was one piece of clothing that his poor mother could always trust to be in a descent condition; and that was Alfred's beloved bomber jacket, which currently was sitting amongst a mishap pile of discarded socks and shoes. He also had a pair of what were once red shoes that now had outlived their usefulness and some socks with holes peeping out where one's big toe would be located by the chain linked fence boxing in the abandoned lot the children were occupying. After one last distraction, a longing look at his prized jacket, Alfred grasped the wooden bat with both hands. Bringing the bat to the ground; he tapped it against the loose dirt and kicked his feet up behind him, imitating all the baseball players he idolized.

"Seriously Alfred; when you have the awesome me agreeing with that stuffy aristocrat, then you're taking too long." Gilbert complained from the pitcher's mound, which for them composed of a lump of packed dirt with an old throw pillow on top. A chorus of similar sounding groans complied with his request; except for Roderich who simply huffed disapprovingly at the statement, this action received a satisfied and sly smirk from Gilbert. Alfred gave a playful glare and eyeroll back at the albino and finished his preparatory routine by spitting out the side of his mouth at the ground. The grotesque gesture forced Roderich to squirm back a bit in disgust and Gilbert to flash a proud grin at the boy before repeatedly tossing the ball into his glove, taking on a dead serious look as Alfred tucked his chin deep into his chest. He starred right at Gilbert's curiously red eyes; only drifting away when the bright yellow chick that always seemed to be with the older boy began playing with the throw pillow, pulling at its tattered tassels and such. But once Alfred brought his gaze back to his opponent, he kept his head still and eyes locked in an unofficial starring contest with the pair of blood red orbs. Gilbert was equally engaged in the glaring as he propped himself up to appear taller, standing on the edge of the pillow with his bare toes dangling off and gripping the baseball hidden within his glove. Alfred watched for any indications as to what the pitch might be, but all he could read was the arrogance typically exuded by the older boy. Gilbert curled his corner lip into an amused little twist as he saw the desperate gleam in Alfred's searching blue eyes. Seeing a pleased look ease onto Gilbert's face; Alfred violently shook his head, letting any inhibition lingering on his features loosen their grip and slip away as he tightened his hold on the bat. Gilbert's movements following this were a quick blur to everyone but the batter. Alfred witnessed perfectly how Gilbert subtly turned his body as he swiftly lifted a leg and fluently preceded this motion with a drop of his arm, finally releasing the ball and making the pitch.

No one heard the gentle pat of Alfred's step forward as he made his stride off of the folded potato sack for it was overshadowed by the booming confidence of the bat's hit. The ball was launched high into the air as the baseball bat fell; abandoned by the American, who purged all thoughts except for run from his mind. The other runners followed the boy's lead, especially Arthur who escaped his captor's grasp with an elbow to the stomach and darted away the moment he could. With long steps that could be considered leaps treading across the pitiful looking field Alfred made a quick tap on first base and continued on past, almost hooking his foot in the strap of the despondent handbag used to mark their base. Yao watched him pass in annoyance and called out for someone to get him out. It was one foot in front of the other, pushing off with more force than the last. Ignoring the crunch of the dead grass; and the dust clouds pluming around his rushing feet, the only other thing that mattered to Alfred besides his running was where the ball was flying to. And this is where he was unsure. While the simple and repetitive task of running came naturally to the frantic boy, locating the ball that soared through the sky was much more difficult for him and the members of the other team. Alfred began pushing the limits of his legs as he approached a Francis doubled over in pain and the second base; thrashing his limbs hard enough to be rewarded with hot throbbing stings, but the pain was worth it to dash by the older boy and the shaggy rug he was hunched by without any expected complications from him. There was a momentary distraction as a tuckered and overall nerve racked Torisused the last ounce of his strength to trot across home base, being received by enthusiastic cheers. Close on his heels was Arthur; nearly outrunning Torisin his retreat from Francis, and when the Brit arrived he fell down into a pile of relief immediately after crossing the now kicked up sack. In the outfield Lovino cursed up a storm as he complained about his brother's decision to nap during the game, his own futile search for the ball and about how he despised this game in general. Another uproar from the sidelines sounded as Kiku sprinted over home plate and tied the game.

Now everything depended on Alfred, and it was at last his moment to shine. Antonio stood lazily at third base with his arms hung down by his side and a smile that somehow encouraged Alfred despite them being on opposite teams. The base under him was appropriately enough a welcome mat, but the fact that its black lettered greeting was faded seemed to dampen what could have been a warmer scene. Before Alfred turned from the base in order to finish the run; he spotted Ludwig suddenly race to the fence as he pointed up to the sky and Alfred pushed himself forward in realization of the other's discovery. With his back facing the other, Alfred could only hear excited shouts behind him and closed his eyes to prevent himself from being tempted to turn and see. Ludwig had by this point more so jumped as to climb over the fence and cautiously threaded through parked cars while his teammates left their positions in order to catch the ball easier if it were thrown to them. All but Feliciano, who finally woke up and drowsily sat rubbing his eyes in a disoriented wobble. Alfred clenched his teeth, focusing on the soreness created inside his mouth rather than what was building up in his legs. For a brief second though his eyelids slipped open despite his best efforts to keep them shut; and the boy saw his teammates running alongside him cheering, even Alfred's generally quiet brother was excitedly hopping up and down as he breathlessly yelled encouragement at him. Instead of closing his eyes again, Alfred kept his now brilliantly shinning orbs fixated on the sight of Matthew and the base. The only thoughts playing in his mind and giving him the sliver of strength to carry on were the glory and highly anticipated reward from winning the bet.

Then all of a sudden Alfred could not hear any of the sounds that had previously clogged the air surrounding him. The lively build up of anticipation from the small crowd fell silent; and as he watched the other boys', only their mouths flapped open wildly but no words left their lips. Even the congested city noises paused for a long overdue breath, and the shrill voices of the insects slicing the hot air with their buzzes were also muted. There was a tinge of panic within Alfred, but this call for alarm was put to rest as his actions played themselves out. He decided to skid across the last length and fell to start his slide on the finely grained ground. It was at this point that as sounds were slowly reintroduced to the American; his sight was blocked by the cloud of dust he whipped up, and inside that blur of reddish brown there was a near instantaneous flash of either white brightness or darkness. Or maybe both. It had happened so fast that he was quite unsure himself. But when the dust finally cleared Alfred found that he was sprawled across the flopped open potato sack, safe.

Before anyone had a chance to begin a victorious roar one crashing sound shattered their desire to celebrate. Ludwig slowed his running to a few dawdled stomping steps, and finally stopped at the curb of the sidewalk now sprinkled with glass shards. Everyone's head turned; and their eyes rested heavily on the sight in front of the German boy, in complete silence except for the occasional hushed whisper they all gathered somberly around the scene. Most of the boys' features sat in awe on their faces but at the same time fearfully aware of the severity of the situation, Alfred had on the gravest expression. His eyes which could have once span across the sky and further with their endless blue optimism, shrunk as they read the fractured name on the glass. The whimsical lettering that they all swore came from one of their old fairytale books became a deranged sight as it hid in the shadow of the awning above and only showed the gaping wound in the harsh light. No one dared to read the establishment's vandalized title aloud, even though they all repeated it privately to themselves. It once read '_Carlos's Creamery- Homemade Ice cream_' arranged on two lines, but now a large hole consumed the beginnings and ends of certain words leaving a nonsensical fragment behind. Then before any of them had even begun to ponder about fleeing the incriminating scene, Mister Carlos Machado came bolting out in so much of a heated huff that the delightful jingle of the bell over the door was too soft to be heard. He expertly threw unbelievably foul constructed curses in Spanish at such a speed that even Antonio had a difficult time keeping up with the hotheaded Cuban's dialogue, but what the boy could make out just left him in an embarrassed blush at the levels of vulgarity the man created. The more cowardly among them crouched under his intimidating presence because Mr. Machado could make a messy apron and bright floral print shirt scary when he was angry. And was he angry. Though when those fierce brown eyes came down to face the group of nervous boys, Mr. Machado was left in an eerie speechlessness that did not settle well with Alfred or any of the others. He was all too familiar with this group of young boys and their antics, and at this point he was mentally kicking himself for thinking it could have been anyone else but them. Mr. Machado simply asked in a voice slightly husk with wavering rage, "Who did it?"

No one said a word. They tried to inconspicuously look to one another through the corners of their eyes, but Mr. Machado noticed this and repeated his question more slowly in an attempted calm tone that just came across as even more irritated than the last. Still not a sound came off of their hesitant lips. Alfred stood at the back of the pack with his hand shaking as he contemplated on whether to raise it or not. He finally let his hand slowly hover into the air when Mr. Machado took a long exaggerated breath and sighed, "Oh well. If whoever did it won't fuss up, then I won't serve any of you ice cream ever again."

And just when everyone was about to let out a ringing chorus of woeful moans or to take the chance to quickly snitch on Alfred; he shot his hand straight into the air and yelled with his head held low in an ashamed voice, "It was me! I-I did it…"

"Thought it would be you" The man said with his arms crossed.

"I'm sorry. It's just that-"Alfred started, already feeling that strange and undesirable inkling of guilt as he spoke in a flat sad tone. Before he could finish his sentence though Mr. Machado finished for him in a tired groan, "You don't know your own strength. Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yes" After that there was a long pause as Mr. Machado shook his head and held it in a hand that was also trying to rub his aching migraine away, which to some extent worked. Then the man unwillingly took his hand away to look at the silent group. Once Alfred had revealed himself to be the perpetrator the others unknowingly shifted away from him and toward Mr. Machado; he was far behind them, alone with nothing to do but tug at the bottom of his filthy shirt. Alfred peeked up to see the subtle change and quickly brought his eyes back down to stare at his pink toes. He knew it was the right thing, to admit the truth, because heroes make sacrifices. But Alfred despised the nothingness, and the way they backed away as if he were a criminal. Thinking he had done it on purpose. That really irked him. Alfred pulled his bottom lip in with two front teeth and held it there in order to keep himself from pouting or displaying whatever weakness the part intended to show. Mr. Machado finally broke the unbearable silence with a short nod to the side and grunted, "The rest of you, go wash up."

Alfred stood solidly still in his spot as the others rushed to get their discarded possessions back at the empty lot. After they left for the abandoned field Mr. Machado went inside his shop, letting out a series of hushed curses to ride on the back of the cool air that slipped out as well. The group left with only some sparse murmurs; but when the boys returned they had fully reverted back to their normal selves: with Francis already bothering Arthur (and everyone else for that matter), Feliciano begging for food from an annoyed Ludwig, Lovino constantly complaining or hitting Antonio, Feliksgossiping to a half listening Toris, Yao lecturing Kiku apparently about winning the game, and Gilbert having his chick peck Roderich. Matthew trailed at the end of the perked up bunch, carrying not only his own coat that secretly had hidden the cherished stuffed polar bear but Alfred's bomber jacket and shoes too. The timid child quietly handed the jacket to his brother; who received it with equal silence, but before scurrying off at the call of his name Matthew placed a comforting hand on Alfred's shoulder and gave the most sincere smile he could manage on his exhausted face. Alfred lifted his head to watch Matthew scamper off to the back of the building, where he could perfectly envision the scene taking place. They would make a left turn that revealed the rickety fence enclosing the small yard at the back of the shop. There a neatly coiled hose sat circled around a wooden stake in the damp ground. Dried footprints documented in the stiff mud from old washings would soon melt away as fresh water spilt forth from the nozzle, erasing proof of the previous adventure. Without fail the group always managed to start off civil enough; some order would be established, and the boys rinsed their hands in peace as they exchanged casual conversation. But then one of them could not resist the urge to initiate a water fight or rather war, because that is really how they treated the affair. As Alfred kneeled down to slip his calloused feet into a pair of mangy socks and pondered this, he heard Arthur executing his unholy revenge on Francis.

'_Figured he couldn't keep his cool, Francis should've seen it coming though. Iggy's been glaring daggers since that last inning._' Alfred thought and shrugged to himself as Francis' frankly pathetic cries rang loud from the back lot. He was just pulling the long stretched laces of his dismal sneakers and slipping on his bomber jacket when Mr. Machado returned with a broom and dustpan in hand, completely ignoring the echoing pleas in the distance for parley. It only took one brief glance at the man's demanding frown for Alfred to surmise that he was expected to clean up the glass, and the young American returned the stern expression with a flat one that he fully intended to use to accept the task. But his effort at seriousness was gravely misread as a challenging glare and returned with a biting repulsion as he forced the tools into Alfred's hands.

"Don't forget to clean inside too. That's where most of it ended up." Mr. Machado bluntly stated before leaving Alfred again, giving the boy one last snarling look of disgust through the hole he had made and disappearing into the depths of the creamery. Alfred starred long and hard at his hole, and once he was sure Mr. Machado was out of sight the boy's face reddened into a dark scarlet tone. His cheeks filled with angry air that was kept bottled by a set of pouting lips. The only noise that shoved itself out of those awkwardly pushed out flaps was a muffled, sassy mope. Alfred desperately wanted to do more than squeeze the broom handle with all the strength he could gather from his sore muscles, but when he swore a startling crack splintered the still air the boy hastily released the broomstick altogether. Luckily he caught it with the top of his foot and grabbed hold of the broom with intended gentleness. Then the assertive sound of rushing water babbled down to a steady silence, and the other's jovial ruckus was jarringly cut off by the back door slamming shut. And Alfred looked through the weathered brick at the tangled and unwound hose that he knew was lying limp in the newly wet mud. But his wondering thoughts dissipated as the boys' cheerful yells funneled through his hole, and he immediately began crazily sweeping. Though as Alfred's strokes calmed, he took the time to give brief and longing gazes at them. They herded themselves through the narrow space behind the counter and out to the cold display case. Eagerly putting their warm hands and round faces onto the chilling glass, even the more serious ones of the group like Roderich and Ludwig became slightly giddy at the enticing enchantment the Cuban's ice cream seemed to cast on its customers. Alfred placed a few of his own fingertips on the shop's cracked front window; trying to connect himself to that happy scene that sat just beyond the glass, but he withdrew his light touch and returned to his work. No matter how much focus he devoted to collecting the scattered shards Alfred's mind continued to drift to that bafflingly faraway yet close place. He expertly predicted the flavors that were ordered before they had been asked for and imagined himself struggling with his own decision. Being stuck in this hypnotic state of yearning did aid in speeding up the monotonous process of sweeping, and soon Alfred found a tidy pile of glittering fragments by his feet. He threw an excited fist pump into the empty air and crouched down to brush the remains inside of the dustpan, when two young women exited Mr. Machado's shop and suddenly huddled together at the first sight of Alfred.

"He must be the kid that broke the window, seems Mr. Machado is having him clean it up." Alfred couldn't tell which of the two had muttered this because both had their backs to him as they finished the last of their ice cream. All that the boy knew was they clearly were not skilled at keeping their whispers hushed as he heard everything the two tall and looming figures had to say about him. There was a pause in their speaking filled with the desperate last scrapes of spoons digging in the bowls for another lump of the frozen delight. Then the other girl spoke.

"It serves him right! Poor Mr. Carlos is going to have to pay for a new one, not to mention the installation fee. And this isn't the first time this has happened." Alfred immediately disliked this one of the two women. She made her accusations with a shrill demeaning tone that did not settle well with him at all, and she shot such a condescending glare that he had half a mind to say something about it. He didn't. Despite the malice this strange woman had towards him, Alfred couldn't argue her because it was his fault after all.

"You don't think it was the same boy, do you?" The first woman asked in such an honest shock that Alfred could not help but smile at least a little.

"Don't act all defensive of him! You saw how Mr. Carlos acted toward him. I don't want to sound mean, but he looks like the troublemaker type too..." That was the last of what Alfred heard as he had scooped up the pile of glass, tossed it inside the trashcan and ran inside; his cheeks bearing the flash of an enraged flush. With Alfred's sudden entrance the other boys crowded at a single table turned to find the American had spun around on his heels and was once again cleaning. His mere presence muted their cheerful conversation and mood. Alfred was oblivious to their suspended silence as he angrily swatted at the shinning shards with his powerful sweeps. All the while unaware to the warnings given by Mr. Machado as the boy's thoughts brooded.

'_Who does that lady think she is? She doesn't even know me! It's not like I mean for these things to happen. They just-_'

"Alfred! Take it easy with that broom; I don't want you breaking anymore of my property!" Mr. Machado loudly exclaimed, tearing Alfred from all his heated complaining. He looked up from his work with a blank, vacant expression that the boy soon regretted when Mr. Machado met it with an insulted fury and another onslaught of curses. The man continued his incomprehensible rant until the only sound anyone could distinguish was nothing less than a grunted roar. He only cooled his fiery anger after hurtling a damp washcloth at the ground and storming off through the door behind the counter, already fumbling with the cigar he planned on smoking. Mr. Machado pulled the door so strongly after him that it bounced out from the frame and remained just a crack opened. Alfred's face was hot again but from embarrassment this time and flamed up in a vicious red. He held the broom close to his chest and began to fiddle with the glass fragments by the end of its bristles. The boy was interrupted from his twiddling when he by chance happened to look up and endure a borrowing glare from a silently disapproving Arthur. Alfred was pressured into lowly sweeps by those commanding thickly browed eyes. Conversation resumed as it had before. Though as their chattering prattled on, Alfred found the broom slippingout of his grip occasionally on the fact that he was tremblingviolently.

'_It's just the air conditioning. I'm cold, that's all._' Alfred repeated these and similar assurances to himself as his arms continued to shake. He was the hero after all, but heroes don't feel the dragging lumps he felt tugging at his heart or the wet tears brimming on the edge of his eyelids. He slowly looked down until his sad blue eyes sat on the shimmering pile of neatly stacked glass. As Alfred starred at the glass, he wished his tears were just bits of those pieces swept up onto his cheeks. The boy wiped the silent tears with his sleeve and was at least thankful the others were too busy to see him like this. Alfred knelt down to finish the job as the sickly sweet scent of Mr. Machado's cigar fluttered in. The smell forced Alfred to hold his breath, but that didn't stop the others from talking.

"I think it's about time that brat was forced to clean up his own mess!" Arthur coldly stated with a snobbish tone.

'_Artie…?_' Was all Alfred could even manage to think.

"I hate to say it… But I agree. It really is unbelievable at what he can get away with, right Matthew?" Francis begrudgingly admitted as he suggestively poked Matthew with his spoon, asking the nervous boy. Matthew sank into his seat and avoided looking at any of them and meekly whispered, "I-I wouldn't say that."

Alfred didn't pay attention to the eruption of arguing that followed as his head and heart were pounding too loudly to hear them. He alternated between biting his lip and grinding his teeth, anything to keep his mouth shut. The boy was shaking more furiously than ever as he quickly scooped the glass remnants and poured them into the trash. Alfred laid the broom and dustpan against the wall, and when the boy was done he stood there with his back to the others and a dark frown on his face.

'_How can they just say those things with me standing here? I thought they were my friends! But…but…_' With his head sore from pounding and angry thoughts, Alfred let all thinking slip away and hung his arms limply. He was exhausted, in both body and mind, from the bounding array of emotions he'd felt. His arms nudging against a bloated pocket of the worn shorts reminded him of its contents, and he gloomily dug them out. When Alfred unclenched his fist a few crumpled bills and various coins along with a strand of string, button and paperclip were in the palm of his hand. A satisfied sigh floated over the other boys' skidding voices as Mr. Machado strolled out from the back room with the smell of his cigar looming over him in a thick aroma. It didn't take more than one glance between his hand and Mr. Machado for Alfred to waltz on up to the counter and place his miscellaneous items in front of the confused man. Mr. Machado glared down at Alfred, but the boy only appeared tired as he sleepily rocked back and forth on his heels. The Cuban man eyed Alfred's offering suspiciously as he scrunched his face into a grimace Mr. Machado pointed at him and accused, "I'm not giving you ice cream, if that's what you're trying to do!"

"No. This isn't for that, it's for the window. I am really sorry though, but that's all I can do. I'm finished cleaning. So I guess I'll go, if it's alright with you." Alfred gently explained in a calm, honest voice more suited to be heard from his shy brother. Mr. Machado was initially taken aback by the sincere tone, but after inspecting Alfred's unwavering eyes he gradually accepted it. Upon further examination of Alfred the previously mistrustful man found the faint beginnings of red puffiness around his eyes and nose. He also noticed the boy's faded yet persistent trembling. Mr. Machado drew his pointed finger back and gave the back of his head a nervous scratch. With an unsure rise of his row and a slightly guilty frown he hesitantly mumbled, "Y-yeah… that's all I need from you."

"See you later then, Mr. Machado." Was all Alfred said before walking out without another look; not even at Matthew, who barely hurried out in time to catch up with his brother by the door. The flustered boy trotted along with his jacket bundled up under one arm and his rapidly melting ice cream cone in the other. Alfred silently held the door open with an unreadable expression Matthew was surprised to find on his face. He gazed with concern at his uncharacteristically acting brother, who gave a weakly blank smile in return. Matthew lifted up his dripping ice cream cone but Alfred earnestly shook his head and replied, "No Mattie, that's yours. You have it."

Matthew reluctantly brought ice cream cone back to himself and exited the shop first, closely followed by Alfred. When he let go of the door a fragile ring from the overhanging bell gracefully cut the two brothers off from the uncomfortable atmosphere inside. It was such a great relief to Alfred that he loudly sighed. And as he and Matthew walked with a little sense of relaxation, their nerves were suddenly put on end when they heard the bell chime once again.

"Alfred, you really do have one strong swing! And try not to let what the other's said bother you!" Mr. Machado yelled with a tinge of an embarrassed blush across his face before tossing something at him. Alfred was quick to react as Matthew flinched back, and the boy caught a baseball that he was quite familiar with. Alfred blinked confusedly at his brother to which he received an equally perplexed expression, but a small and happy smile found its way onto Alfred's face once he turned the ball over in his hand. Written on the back in bold, black marker were the words, 'The ice cream's on the house next time.'

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><p><strong>AN: **I haven't written in a while so I hope I haven't become a worse writer. (Not that I was very good to begin with.) But I've been busy with college. Which totally rocks! Everyone should just skip high school. Anyway for those of you waiting for my one-shots following Egg Nation you're going to have to wait. I started one, but I kind of lost interest because of my small attention span. The rest who have no idea what I'm talking about have alot of reading to do if you want to be in the loop, but in order to get up to date you'll have to go through some of my early work which even I admit isn't that good. So just do whatever you'd like. Reviews are encouraged though! Also according to my research, (Which is basically a Google search) Carlos Machado is a possible name for Cuba. Hmm? What's that? You want to know why none of the female nations are featured. Well isn't it obvious? Girls have cooties! Wait... I'm a girl... Ek! I have cooties!

Make sure not to come in contact with a member of the opposite gender, or you'll die of an infectious disease. Peace~! -MagnifiedSun


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